Fast Company
by Bawgdan
Summary: "In the context of food and consumption, too-muchness translates into not-enoughness: your appetites are too big for the planet, and therefore, you probably shouldn't be here." Melissa Broder


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Nothing is impossible for Chrollo. His ambitions surpassed his need for water. If he could eat dreams and live off raw adrenaline, he'd give up food in a heartbeat. Once he sets his sights on a goal, whatever the troupe is up in their personal lives must come to stop. They aren't individuals—they are appendages to a cause bigger than their meager lives.

Pakunoda's long fingernails tickle the bottom of Machi's chin. It feels nice to be pampered. Machi has never stepped foot inside of a salon before, let alone observed a makeup counter. As she rolls her shoulders to relieve the stress of holding her neck straight for so long, Pakunoda accidentally colors the outside of Machi's lips a subtle pink.

"Stop squirming around like a two year old. Hold still..." Pakunoda locks her hands on Machi's face and wipes away the squiggly line of lipstick with her thumb. Machi allows her to sweetly abuse her face. Pakunoda smells like vanilla and money. She had curled her eyelashes to look like spider legs. The wings of her eyeliner sharper than a knife. A single spongey roller sits on the top of her head, holding her bangs.

All of this effort to steal one pink diamond. Machi suggested just nuking the gala to kingdom come, but Pakunoda never misses the opportunity to dress up. She never has anywhere nice to where the clothes she has acquired over the years. Their means of making money is messy, not fit for a pair of shoes worth three thousand jenny.

"That Hisoka won't answer his phone." Shizuku peers around the door, already dressed. She has an effortless femininity like Pakunoda. Machi is the one who needs her edges smoothened out.

Hisoka is new and none of the troupe cares for him. He walks around like he is better than all of them. Doesn't show up for their meetings but always drops a 'courtesy call'. Chrollo insists that they try for Hisoka's strength makes them greater and that's really all that should count. _Feelings hinder us from our potential_—Chrollo had repeated three times.

To spite Machi, or to teach her a lesson, he chose Hisoka as their fourth man power for this venture—obtaining the Pink Star. Pakunoda, Machi, Shizuku, and Hisoka. It's a tragedy waiting to happen.

Pakunoda made each of them promise that they will allow her to have her fun before they make a mess of things. It doesn't have to be messy, but somehow it always ends up being a massacre.

"To hell with him then. We don't need him anyway." Machi tries not to sneeze as Pakunoda mists her face with setting spray.

"Can we just 'accidentally' kill him too?" Shizuku sits on the edge of the clawfoot tub, adjusting to loose spaghetti strap of her dress, which honestly, in Machi's opinion, doesn't fit her personality at all. It's definitely a cut Pakunoda would wear, but Shizuku just looks like a child pretending to be an adult.

Pakunoda steps back and observes her hard work. The face she makes, a smile that reaches her ears, watery eyes emphasized by a constricted sigh. Pakunoda's voice skips like a rock on water, "You clean up so well, Machi. Why do you insist on wearing a potato sack?"

"To give you anxiety, obviously." Machi bends over the counter to examine her face. It shimmers like a fairy had spit all over her face. She likes it and will endure it for the next four hours. Hopefully less. Extended periods of time around Hisoka make her want to vomit. He talks in dizzying circles.

"What do you think, Shizuku?" Pakunoda picks up her glass of red wine from the sink.

Machi pinches a speck of glitter from her dark eyelashes.

"What do I think about what?" Shizuku pushes her glasses up her nose and blinks absently.

Shaking her head, Pakunoda sips from her glass. She leaves a ruddy lip-print on the rem.

"Go put on that dress." She gestures for the door at Machi.

"I said no dress! That was the agreement!" Machi pats at the neatly pinned bun on her head. Two thin spirals of her hair fall around her ears like whiskers.

"Oh, Machi. You look so pretty." Shizuku finally gasps.

"It's devastating, isn't it? God wasted a body on you." Pakunoda's earrings catch the bright shine of bathroom lights and it looks like stars orbiting around her face.

"Deep." Shizuku nods in agreement.

"I hate both of you." Machi storms out the bathroom naked.

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Hisoka still refuses to answer their phone calls. From the hour it took to get ready, to the thirty minutes it took for them to cram inside of a cab, not a word from him. Machi couldn't care less but it bothers Shizuku the most. Probably because she is a fresh member as well and wants him to succeed.

The satin dress Pakunoda had violently forced Machi into is slinky. She's hyper aware of the air caressing her armpits. One wrong sudden movement and a nipple can escape the loose grip of the fabric. She struggles to fold her legs, grimacing as her thighs rub together. Pakunoda also insisted that a panty line is backwoods behavior, however Machi isn't going to compromise the sane necessity of wearing panties for 'aesthetics'.

The cruel joke of the evening? Pakunoda does't even wear a dress. She wears a red jumpsuit with a plunging v-neck to match her bloody lips. Machi resists the temptation to knock her head out the window.

Shizuku holds her phone up to her face. The screen flashes across the lenses of her glasses.

"I sent him a text." She mumbles.

"We can do it without him like we've been doing." Pakunoda lights a cigarette. There's a 'no smoking' lamented sign taped to the back of plexiglass window separating them from the driver. She rolls the window down and breathes out her soul. The smoke rolls around her face, wind shaking her chandelier earrings.

"He just read the text." Shizuku slides her glasses up her forehead. "But no reply."

Machi folds her arms over her loose chest and sucks in her jaws.

The cab driver swerves to the side of the busy road.

"Excuse me ma'am, you cannot smoke..." But he doesn't get another word out. Pakunoda reaches through opening of the plexiglass and puts the cigarette out in the man's eye.

His scream and the fist he jams into the horn sets the motion for the remainder of the evening. Their night begins the moment of his very last breath. The last of the sunlight is a golden belt around the horizon.

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Shizuku comes down on the brakes at the tail end of yellow light. She had missed their right turn.

"This is my second time ever driving a car." She can barely see above the wheel. Pakunoda re-applies her makeup in the passenger mirror. It didn't take long to kill the man, but he had put up quite the fight—she'd gone easy on him for the sake of not ruining her outfit. If Shizuku hadn't been with them, they really is no telling how they would've gone about disposing the body.

"Just don't run us in a ditch." Pakunoda grumbles when they drive over a pothole. She accidentally pokes herself in they with her mascara.

Machi hangs her head out the back window, allowing the wind to unfurl the tight curls of her bangs. Her eyes dart from one red tail light to another. The zip past them like shooting stars. Shizuku weaves around the traffic like she has done this many times before.

"You don't drive like someone who hardly does it." Machi accidentally knocks Shizuku's phone on the floor as she stretches in the back seat.

"I've seen enough high-speed chases on T.V." Shizuku turns her head in an attempt to look at Machi through the plexiglass. The car swerves. Pakunoda grips the wheel, again, smearing some of her makeup.

"I'd like to die of old age! Not some shitty fender bender!" Pakunoda grumbles.

"Sorry." Shizuku's voice lowers.

By Machi's foot, Shizuku's phone lights up two times. She nudges it from under the seat with the stiletto, bending down for it. The dress creases around the crevices of her body. The space between her thighs, under her breasts, the string of her thong. She'd much rather be naked than tease it.

She presses the home screen and all of Shizuku's apps light up.

"You don't keep a passcode?" Machi grimaces at Hisoka's name across the banner.

"No. I'd forget it." Shizuku says rather sheepishly.

"Makes sense." Machi opens Hisoka's message. He had responded with a smiling emoji and nothing more. No update on his whereabouts or anything relevant to Shizuku's series of text.

A sinister smiling semi colon and number three.

"Why has no one jettisoned this fool off the fucking planet?" Machi closes the screen and thumps the phone against the seat.

"Who? Hisoka?" Shizuku doesn't blink as the quick traffic lights swim within her glasses.

"Who else?" Machi scoffs.

"Can we just climb the Hisoka hill when we get there? I want to feel like a proper debutante for at least an hour." Pakunoda flips the mirror closed, falling back into the seat.

A car honks at the cab when Shizuku slightly veers out of lane.

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Their target for the night is the young daughter of an oligarch, whose name they choose not to remember. Shizuku wishes she could remember. As they approach the doorman, she strains herself thinking so hard about it. For Machi and Pakunoda, they've never had the luxury of their names being important.

"Names?" The door man holds his attention on Pakunoda, like he's seen her face before—it's impossible that he ever has.

Shizuku croaks a whine. Machi nudges her with a sharp elbow.

Pakunoda smooths back her hair, invading the doorman's personal space. She's just as tall as him, shoulders almost as broad. Lightly brushing her hand on his shoulder, she begins to whisper in his ear. The color of his skin fades papery white. His eyes widen as he realizes that his existence cannot depend on the bulging muscles through his suit.

Machi never asks what Pakunoda tells her prey. She doesn't care. It's just fascinating to witness brick-wall-like men crumbling to dust. Tugging at the knot of his tie, he allows them to enter. Beads of sweat form in the creases of his forehead.

"What did you tell him?" Shizuku re-adjusts her frames on her nose, thick heels tapping awkwardly against the white marble floors,msequin clutch tucked under her arm.

"Shizuku, there are some things money cannot replace. That's really all you need to know. It was nothing interesting." Pakunoda absorbs the pristine white walls and tall vases filled with the exotic flowers. Phallic looking peonies and erect wild things that would never grow in Meteor.

They follow the direction of music and conversation, Pakunoda leading the way like she knew this place like lines crisscrossing in her palms. Machi envies the calm that softens Pakunoda's otherwise sharp exterior. All she can feel is an existential dread.

But in the mix of her irritation and despair, she can sense what could only be Hisoka's energy permeating through the rich quality of air. It's so strong, the taste of sweetness dissolves along her tongue. Her saliva goes down like a glob of honey.

"Hisoka is here." She scratches behind her ear.

"Trying to steal all the glory, I see." Pakunoda stops before they enter through the doors of the gala.

"You're trying to get drunk with fat balding rich guys. The Pink Star is merely a condition." Machi takes off the annoying earrings and pours them in Shizuku's hands.

Pakunoda just looks over her shoulder and smiles, looking beautifully determined.

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They had missed one vital detail of the evening. Most, if not all, of the event goers wore masks. Crescent moon masks, elephant masks, feathery peacock masks, or masses of flowers around their eyes kind of masks. Like the doorman, Pakunoda's skin blanches. Her effort to 'fit' in had blown up in her face, and Machi silently enjoys the mild conniption that causes Pakunoda's hands to shake. The wine sloshes around in her glass.

"At least you stand out." Shizuku fails to lighten the mood. Pakunoda throws back the flute and guzzles the wine.

Machi scans the room for Hisoka. There are moments when he feels close but not even a minute later, the feeling scatters.

"I'm going to pee." She excuses herself. Shizuku watches Machi wander through the nicely dressed swarm of people. Pakunoda continues to wallow in her misery.

"What is this gala even for, Pakun?" Shizuku pinches her shoulder.

"Honestly, who cares...?" Pakunoda looks dejectedly into her empty wine flute.

Rich people are tacky—Machi has noticed. The entire aesthetic is an assemblage of different flowers that don't match together. They're only valued because they are rare and only survive in harsh environments. The leafage will die very soon. Machi believes that it's unintentionally symbolic.

She can't understand why Pakunoda wants to relate with tacky folk. The heavy crystals of the chandeliers aren't things she has dreamed of. Machi doesn't really dream. She never knows she needs something until it's physically shown to her. Dreaming has always been a cumbersome fault of the brain to her. _The heart wants what it wants_? Well Machi's heart just beats, pumping blood. It has never 'wanted'.

The women's restroom is immaculate in that it follows specific coordination. White and pale pinks. Soft chairs that don't scream 'wealth'. Toilets are toilets. Rich, poor, and people in the middle all piss the same. She feels less oppressed. It smells better than it does on the other side of the door. A woman slinks from stalls in a laced feline mask. Doesn't even wash her hands. She grabs the handle of the door and exits without so much as acknowledging Machi. The red train of her dress slithering behind her like dead weight.

Rich people are not only tacky. They are also disgusting.

Machi snatches up a paper towel, runs it under warm water so she can wipe the shimmer from her face. As she runs it across her lips, it beads up and sticks to her skin. The runny mascara makes her eyes water. Releasing a huff, Machi stamps her heel, defeated.

"Damn it, Pakunoda..." She spits into the sink. A stream of swears bubble up from her throat.

Machi busies herself with undressing her hair. She snatches a pin too hard from her scalp and grunts as it knots in a curl. Never. Ever. Again. In her life. She repeats this in her head until each silk curl Pakunoda had burned into her mane flops around her shoulders.

The door clicks open. Supernaturally, she knows it's Hisoka. She doesn't have anything to say. In her mind, she chastises him for following young women into public restrooms but she keeps it to herself.

Hisoka wears a very simple black mask. Around the eyes, it's studded with tiny gold jewels. They might be real gems. It wouldn't necessarily be out-of-character for him. Overall, he effortlessly passes as some random wealthy dickhead in a perfectly tailored suit.

How Hisoka got the memo but Pakunoda missed it—Machi inwardly laughs. He perfectly looks the part. She wonders if he comes from the lifestyle. Nobody knows a thing about Hisoka. He happened out of thin air. Chrollo never asked the right questions. Hisoka is the only disaster she disagrees with her leader about.

"I guess I can't piss in peace either." She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. There's still glitter on her face.

"I'm not about to stop you from pissing. Relax." He slides from his pocket a glistening necklace. The center piece is a huge pink diamond.

"How the hell?" Machi stomps toward him and snatches it from his loose hold.

"Tea Mochizuki is a known for having an adrenaline kink."

"Who?" Machi squints up at him.

"Our target." Hisoka has two dimples when he smiles. Machi had never noticed them before.

"How did you..?" She doesn't want to believe the entire time they spent choking on hairspray that he was out doing 'their' job.

Hisoka fishes out a clear plastic bag from the same pocket. He holds it up to Machi's face. Inside are four pills of D².

"She was junkie, Machi. It wasn't very hard." The light bouncing off the jewels on his mask give his eyes an unnatural shine. The black feather trimmings shake when he breathes through his nose and talks.

"So she just gave it to you for drugs?"

"No. She's dead. It was an accident..." Hisoka's voice fades as he looks off to the side. He smile shrinks too. Machi isn't familiar with this expression of his.

They stand in an awkward silence. She left the sink water running. It thunders inside the bowl of marble.

"I mean I wasn't opposed to killing her but it wasn't what I had anticipated. I don't get a kick out of killing weak people." He actually looks remorseful.

"How did she die?"

"Her heart just stopped beating."

Machi runs her fingers through the diamond links of the necklace. It's such an ugly gaudy possession to have.

"Why would Leader even want this tasteless piece of trash?" She gives it back to Hisoka. Her hair finally unravelling itself from her crest as she whips away from him to cut off the sink.

"I was wondering the same thing myself, but I'm not materialistic." Hisoka laughs lightly.

"How long do you think we have before they find her body?" Machi collects the wayward bobby pins she plucked from her hair.

"Perhaps an hour or so. Do we want them to find her body? Shizuku can dispose of it." Hisoka surprises her with his thoughtfulness.

"Are _you_ doped up?" She asks him bluntly. Machi isn't like Chrollo. She will ask the hard questions.

Instantaneous laughter ripples from his gut. The walls of the bathroom feel a lot smaller as it fills up with his guttural chokes.

"I'm being serious. Why is that so funny to you!?" Machi raises her voice.

Hisoka walks towards her and throws the D² on the counter. His nen is overpowering because she allows it. Her personal walls aren't up. She tastes the honey in her mouth again as he stands over her. He sort of pins her in place as he presses his hands against the counter. Wedged between his arms, Machi leans back when he lowers his face to hers. Their noses touch.

"Do I look like I'm rolling?" Hisoka doesn't blink. Holds his eyes wide open.

Machi's face twists into the ugliest frown. Her mouth hurts—that's how dedicated she is to the dirty look she gives him. Hisoka moves closer and her back presses so hard against the counter, it could slice through her midsection.

She looks into his eyes, finding that his pupils remind her of black holes forming in the middle of a fiery explosion.

"White is your color, Machi." Hisoka's breath caresses her mouth. He had pressed himself so close, she can feel his erection growing against her.

"Hisoka. I have to pee." Machi doesn't move.

And he steps out of her personal space. He takes a pill out of the bag, tilts his head back then drops it in his mouth. Swallows it dry like the freak he is.

"I'm going to enjoy myself. You should to." Smacking his lips, he observes his face in the mirror. A woman walks in and freezes at the sight of him.

"He's just now leaving." Machi grabs the bag of three pills before pushing herself into a stall.

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**A/N: So I've had this written for a year I think? I was gonna use it but I ended up Frakensteining it for other short stuff because I didn't really like this. I rediscovered it in my folder and reread it and I fell in love with it. I don't know why. Some of the passages I've used in other fics. I just didn't think it was fair anymore to hide it from the world. Maybe this could be a long fic. I don't know. Thank you! Leave a comment if you like.**


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